Less than thirty-six hours before I got on a plane for what should have been just a long weekend in the Netherlands, I moved houses in Rome. As soon as I would get back after the weekend, I’d decorate it to make it a cosy place. And I knew exactly how already. For years I’ve had this picture in my mind of how my dream house would look like. And although this new house did not quite meet that picture yet, there was one very important element that I could already realise. Beautiful terracotta pots with little lemon trees and cacti. Don’t ask me why, but the house of my dreams is full of them. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that you shouldn’t wait for that dream house to finally come along. Instead, you have to believe a 100% that one day, you’ll live in it, and in the meantime simply enjoy what you already have. Getting that cactus in the house already now is a powerful first step. You first have to believe it, to then see it. A lesson that I learned in a very special way.
Once more an adventure full of uncertainties awaits me now. Where am I going to live and what will Rome be like these days? Has the city changed a lot, do my friends still live there and has ‘my’ little coffee shop survived these months of compulsory closure?
However, after the weekend I didn’t come back to Rome, and I stayed in the Netherlands for much longer than planned. But that will change now soon, as I’m almost flying back to Italy. That new house in Rome – which I still had to decorate – I cancelled somewhere halfway through the lock-down, not knowing how long this strange situation would continue. So, once more an adventure full of uncertainties awaits me now. Where am I going to live and what will Rome be like these days? Has the city changed a lot, do my friends still live there and has ‘my’ little coffee shop survived these months of compulsory closure? At the same time, other questions pop up. This time in the Netherlands has been beautiful despite everything, as I have spent very precious moments with friends. Only yesterday we organised a surprise party for ‘Mister Cactus’, one of our friends who turned thirty. I realise all too well that I wouldn’t have been able to be there if I had been in Italy, just like my brother’s birthday and Father’s Day which we celebrated all together this weekend. Am I not going to miss my family and friends too much?
As a first-year economics student I had passed all my subjects after a year of hard work, except one: mathematics. And let that be the one subject you had to pass in order not to be expelled…
This week, it also happens to be exactly ten years ago that I took the exam of my life. As a first-year economics student I had passed all my subjects after a year of hard work, except one: mathematics. And let that be the one subject you had to pass in order not to be expelled… My levels of stress were sky-high. Already in January I had sat the exam for the first time. Knowing how bad I was at math, I had taken extra tutoring for six weeks, twice a week, and I studied all through the Christmas holidays. I told myself how terribly difficult it was, and that I had to study every free hour I had.
I studied from early in the morning until the moment the university library closed its doors at a quarter to twelve (!) at night, to then push myself to continue ‘for a while’ at home, which meant well beyond midnight
I got a three (out of ten), by far not enough to pass the subject. A grade that gave me a brutal reality check of how hopeless the situation was. However, I did not allow myself to let my head down. I knew I had three chances, and the first retake came in March. Every single day, I studied from early in the morning until the moment the university library closed its doors at a quarter to twelve (!) at night, to then push myself to continue ‘for a while’ at home, which meant well beyond midnight. I told myself that this was necessary to have any chance of going to pass.
By now it was summer and I found this training more than awful. In the musty room hung a permanent smell of anxiety sweat and coffee breath from the mathematics professors
For that retake in March, I got a five. Still not enough to pass the subject, and it felt like a slap in my face. I noticed that fellow students started to lose their faith (we started in September with more than nine hundred students, of which only a third were left after that year). And I, too, was haunted by demotivating thoughts like “Face it Anne, you’re never going to make it”. I realised I had to step up my game even more, because this time it was going to be all or nothing. In or out. For four weeks I followed a special exam training in the basement of the university, where you had to identify yourself with your passport every time you arrived, anything to prevent fraud. If you hadn’t done even one sum of the bizarre amount of homework, you were out. By now it was summer and I found this training more than awful. In the musty room hung a permanent smell of anxiety sweat and coffee breath from the mathematics professors that I all thought were unsympathetic, arrogant and pedantic. I had secretly accused them a hundred times already of sadistic traits when once again they seemed to fully enjoy our despair at impossible mathematical equations to then present themselves far too complacent as our saviours while covering the dark green chalkboard with the ‘logical solutions’. One of them, however, was different. During the last training session, this elderly professor with his soft face and friendly round glasses said something to me that stayed with me forever. As I packed my things, I sighed that I really wasn’t aiming for a grade higher than a six. He looked at me quite piercingly and asked me why I said that. Why didn’t I aim for that eight? I almost laughed in his face. Me, an eight for math? The very idea was too unrealistic to even give it a thought.
Because, I had thought, if I would just study there for a few days and breathe the same air as all these math geniuses, I hopefully would get some enlightened ideas about mathematical equations myself too
In the last week leading up to my personal D-Day, I went to the University of Technology in Eindhoven where my very smart sister and her equally smart friends were studying. Because, I had thought, if I would just study there for a few days and breathe the same air as all these math geniuses, I hopefully would get some enlightened ideas about mathematical equations myself too. Amongst all these beta-people I was a total outsider, yet it felt like a warm bath full of positive energy and pep talks. And then before I knew it, it was the night before the exam that would determine everything. I realised that my future actually depended on it. Whether I would stay in Amsterdam or not if I wouldn’t pass, I hadn’t thought through yet. Although Southern Europe had always appealed to me, I didn’t have a Plan B at all.
Doubts kept running through my head, but I didn’t allow myself to give in. Because that night I made one of the most important and brave decisions of my life
Where I usually kept studying for all my exams until well after midnight, something inside of me changed that day. At six o’clock I closed my books, went home, cooked a nice meal and watched a movie. And I fully realise how silly this might sound now, but at that moment it felt like the most rebellious thing I had ever done in my life. Doubts kept running through my head, but I didn’t allow myself to give in. Because that night I made one of the most important and brave decisions of my life. I decided to believe in myself. In spite of the fact that my mathematical achievements up until then had given me very little reasons to believe it was possible, I actually decided to have a rock-solid faith in myself. In a world where ‘first see, then believe’ is the norm, I already realised at the age of nineteen that it was exactly the other way around. First believe, then see. During the three-hour exam on a shaky folding chair in a sea of other students my heart would skip a beat every time I went to the next sum. However, I kept repeating it to myself like being in some kind of trance: “I can do this, I can do this, I can do this”. When time was finished, I stood up, handed in my twelve fully written pages of sums, and then let go completely. I had given everything I had.
With trembling hands, I opened the email. There were two numbers, one was a five and the other an eight
About a month later, the results were in. With trembling hands, I opened the email. There were two numbers, one was a five and the other an eight. For a few seconds I thought I didn’t pass again, until I realised that that five indicated the number of credits for the subject. Which could only mean one thing… that eight had to be my grade for the math exam, which was more than enough to pass. An eight! Me?! How in the world did this happen?
And now that I actually choose to go back to Italy once again, I get the same questions. How are you going to do it, Anne? Has the corona situation not made it even more impossible to build a life in Italy?
No matter how much those math exams made my life impossible that year, they also taught me one of the most important lessons ever. A lesson I often thought about when I quit my job and moved to Italy without any plan – hence without any prospect of a stable income. The many questions I received “but what are you going to do there?” “And how are you going to support yourself?” I honestly couldn’t answer, as I had no idea. Then why did I do it anyway? Because although I couldn’t see it yet, I could believe it. And now that I actually choose to go back to Italy once again, I get the same questions. How are you going to do it, Anne? Has the corona situation not made it even more impossible to build a life in Italy? But I have stopped worrying about how to do things for a long time already. I simply believe it can be done, and I believe in myself. Because past achievements are no guarantee for the future. In fact, the future is much brighter. Because if you just start dreaming about that future and then choose to firmly believe in your dreams, it turns out more beautiful than you could ever imagine. And that Mister Cactus and all my other dear friends and family? I’m sure I’m going to miss them very much. But on my first day in Rome, I will run to the store and get myself my own Mister Cactus. The one that comes in a terracotta pot, that is.